


A Slave to Modern Fashion

by Anonymous



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Cock Rings, Gags, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, i mean its implied i think, like i can't emphasise just how noncon this fic is, social distancing, this is a very noncon fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26942272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Help Wanted.Looking for a male student to model some pieces for a senior project, A Slave to Modern Fashion, due first week of May.No experience required, will be compensated for time.(Please remember I am also a student so compensation will be moderate).If interested, send a text Harry at —
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 99
Collections: Anonymous, Anonymous Unicorns





	A Slave to Modern Fashion

**Author's Note:**

> To be clear, this is self indulgent. It's noncon. It's bondage. Don't look for a the next Great Fic here. But you might enjoy it if it's your thing.

_Help Wanted._

_Looking for a male student to model some pieces for a senior project,_ **_A Slave to Modern Fashion,_ ** _due first week of May._

_No experience required, will be compensated for time._

_(Please remember I am also a student so compensation will be moderate)._

_If interested, send a text Harry at —_

Louis isn’t exactly sure why he even took the flyer. It’s not like he’s ever thought about modeling before, and he’s really not the type to go about hitting up random other students to help them. But something about it seemed… intriguing. Maybe he’ll get some nice pictures out of it. 

Maybe he’s just tired of being so isolated with all the extra safety measures. Being alone in a dorm meant for three felt lush in the beginning, but the appeal’s worn off a bit this far into the year. 

Whatever the reason, this Harry is quick to respond to his text with a time and place — a dorm on the other end of campus from his own — and an inquiry about what sort of beverage Louis might like — to pass the time while fitting the clothing to his measurements, he says.

Of course usually Louis’ a Stella sort of bloke, but he figures if he’s going to be a model for the night, he might as well play the part and asks for a nice dark red. 

**Harry:** _Perfect, I’ll pick up my favourite. I know you’ll just love it._

With that sorted, Louis marks off the date in his calendar and tries to put it out of his mind. After all, he’s got his own projects to focus on. 

— 

The sun has already set as Louis arrives at Harry’s dorm. It’s one of the older buildings, tall and ornate, and probably just as empty as his own thanks to the lockdown rules. 

Louis texts Harry to let him know he’s in the building as he ascends the stairs, and when he gets to the right room, the door is already open a crack.

He knocks anyway, just to be polite, as he slides inside. “Hello?”

“Hello, come in!” comes a (deep) voice from just around the corner. “I was just finishing up a piece so my hands are a bit full at the moment.”

Louis follows the sound of his voice around the corner and finds himself in a large living room, probably a dorm like his own meant for many roommates but down to just one. There’s fabric in various forms draped across most of the furniture, and a large desk with a sewing machine at the far side, with a man Louis assumes to be Harry leaning over it.

“You must be Louis!” he says, glancing up with a smile. “Sorry, you know how it is. Always leaving off classwork until the last second. I’ve never had a project ready ahead of schedule.”

“I know just what you mean,” Louis agrees. “You’re Harry, I hope?”

“I am indeed.” His machine slows to a stop and Harry pulls the piece he was working with away from it, examining the stitches. “Listen, not to be too forward, but I’ve got all of the pieces for my final project just about done, would you mind stripping down to your pants just so I can get the sizes right?”

“Oh, sure,” Louis says. It hadn’t occurred to him that this would involve taking his clothes off, but of course that does make sense considering modeling means wearing… different clothes… Good thing he’s wearing a nice pair of black boxer briefs today that he’s _sure_ are relatively clean. 

“If you want, you can use the toilet just through the far door there,” Harry says, pointing behind Louis. “I know stripping in front of people you’ve just met doesn’t tend to be super comfortable.”

Louis nods. “Right, I’ll take you up on that.”

In the toilet, he strips down and carefully folds his clothes, leaving them on the counter next to the sink. Giving himself a once-over in the mirror, he runs his fingers through his hair, styling it up as best he can, and decides that overall he looks pretty decent. Could be worse.

Stepping out of the toilet again, he notes that Harry’s made room on the couch for him, clearing away fabric from one end of it. He’s standing now, two wine glasses in hand as he drinks from one of them.

He turns toward Louis when he hears him and Louis very much sees the once-over that Harry gives him. Like, it’s not even subtle. 

“I’ve poured you a glass,” he says, a wide grin on his face as he walks over and hands the one he wasn’t drinking to Louis. It’s a dark red, and Louis sips at it. It’s pretty nice. Harry has good taste. 

“So,” Harry ushers him over to the other end of the room. “I’ve got to take some measurements, adjust the pieces to fit, and then I’ll get you all made up and ready. I hope you have some time to kill?”

“Nowhere to be tonight,” Louis says. “It’s not like I’ve got any sort of in-person things happening anyway, what with the pandemic.”

Harry laughs. “I know exactly what you mean,” he says. “Feels like I haven’t seen people in days.”

He puts a hand on Louis’ bare hip and leads him into position, putting down his own glass and picking up a tape measure that he pulls taunt around Louis’ waist.

“I’m not sure I _have_ seen people in days,” Louis agrees. “Maybe a delivery man or two. But besides zoom lectures on dodgy internet? It’s just been me alone in my dorm.”

He takes another sip of the wine, holding his elbows out as Harry moves the tape measure up into his armpits. 

“We usually have studio space for fashion students,” Harry tells him. “But because of the distancing measures those have been turned into temporary dorms, hence this place looking… like this,” he gestures broadly to the room around them. “It’s not ideal.”

Louis laughs. “I believe that, I’d be worried about spilling takeout on everything all the time.”

“Oh I’ve done a fair amount of that,” Harry agrees. “Here, sit down while I finish these up.”

— 

Between small talk and the steady thrum of the sewing machine, Louis isn’t sure how much time passes. It’s enough to finish the wine in his glass, which makes his face feel all rosy and warm. It’s also erased all the awkwardness he felt sitting in a stranger’s dorm in just his pants. He’s not a lightweight, but… Okay, he’s a bit of a lightweight. 

“Alright,” Harry says, getting up from his machine. “Here, this goes on first.” He’s holding up something teal. It’s long and flowy, with a few snaps and holes dotted about on it, and Louis isn’t at all sure what it is. 

“How?” he asks, eyeing it. 

Harry laughs a loud, honking laugh. “Here,” he says. “Reach your arms forward.”

Louis does and Harry feeds them into what must be sleeves. It’s soft like a t-shirt, with rows of holes down the sides like it needs to be buttoned up, but Harry’s forgotten and not actually put any buttons on it. 

When the sleeves are all the way on, Louis frowns. The sleeves are so long that his hands don’t actually appear out the other side. He lifts his arms, and the whole front of the shirt raises with it, while his back remains completely bare.

The sleeves… have been sewn completely to the front of the shirt, down to the wrists?

“Uh, Harry?” Louis asks. “Is this supposed to happen?”

Harry laughs, a bit softer this time. “It’s just because they’re not done yet,” he says. “Stand up for me, I’ll fix it.”

Louis does, flipping his hands and playing with the ends of the long sleeves. He laughs a little at it. 

Harry steps back to his sewing desk and picks up a spool of what looks like golden rope, but steps behind Louis, taking it out of his line of sight.

The next thing he feels is the collar of the shirt closing in the back, tightening just enough that Louis comes to the realization that Harry must be threading the rope through the holes. Like a button-up shirt, but backward. 

He doesn’t work with any haste, but Louis notices within the first few holes that Harry threads the rope through how tight the material around his shoulders becomes. It’s a cottony material with a light stretch, but it seems like the whole piece was sewn small enough that threading it up in the back is very quickly making it _very_ form fitting. Snug. Tight. 

And as Harry goes further down the shirt, Louis’ arms are pulled with the material further toward behind him, until his hands are _almost_ meeting as Harry ties it off. 

He steps around to Louis’ front again and gives an appreciative nod. “I got the sizing right,” he announces happily.

Louis thinks he should point out again that this hasn’t exactly _solved_ the problem of his arms, but when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is, “...Hands?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Harry says. “Like I said, I’m not done yet! _Fashion is a work in progress,_ that’s what my professor ends all of his emails with.”

He makes his way back to his desk to put down the last of the spool, and then rummages around until he comes up with a pair of scissors, and what look like mittens in the same gold as the rope. “These might be a bit big, I measured them on myself but your hands seem a bit daintier than mine, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Louis is still standing where Harry had left him, and when he comes back Harry squats down, again just out of sight, behind him. Louis feels it as large, strong hands find his own and then locate each of his wrists, gripping them for a moment before letting go again, and then the cool glide of scissors as the material over his right hand is cut away. 

For just a moment his right hand feels the cooler air of the room, and then those two hands clasp his, manipulating his fingers into the shape of a loose fist, and suddenly his hand is swallowed up inside a thick, form-fitting golden mitten. 

The part of the mitten around his wrist tightens and then Louis hears a snap, and feels the weight of Harry’s hands disappear from his. He thinks he should say something. Ask a question? Demand… something? But what little speech Louis was capable of is long gone now, and the fight in him, for some reason, isn’t far behind. 

He feels, as if in a trance now, the same thing happen to his other hand. The gripping of his wrist, the cutting of material, his hand folded into a fist and covered by a mitt, the material tightening and snapping in place around his wrist. 

When Harry stands this time, he puts his two hands on Louis’ hips to pull himself up. Louis nearly shivers at the contact, feeling so small and powerless. 

“I’ll sew those to the shirt eventually,” Harry says. “But They’ll work the way they are, for now.”

He walks around and looks at Louis straight on. Louis might blush, or his face might still be red from the wine. He pulls at his arms a little but the shirt is so tight it’s like wearing a corset, and his arms only move enough to make the shirt ride up over his belly button a little. 

Harry’s eyes zero in on the movement. “I’ll fix that too,” he promises, and picks his way over loose fabric scraps on the floor to a chair next to the couch, one absolutely piled with different articles of clothing. Louis turns a little to watch him, but he feels dizzy at the slightest movement. 

“Aha,” Harry says, picking up a crumpled ball of fabric. It’s gold. “This will be helpful soon.”

He comes back and makes his way right into Louis’ space, reaching up with his free hand to stroke at Louis’ cheek. “That wine worked well, didn’t it?” he asks, voice suddenly crooning and soft.

Wine…? Is that what’s making Louis… like this?”

“Wine…?” he manages to get out. It’s a little slurred. 

I didn’t put a lot in, but it looks like you were a lightweight to start with so maybe I didn’t even need so much.” He brushes back Louis’ fringe and Louis shivers under the touch. He wants it again. “Don’t worry, though, stage one doesn’t last that long and you’ll like stage two much better.”

Louis feels like his mind is molasses and he’s having a little trouble following Harry’s words. The good news is, though, that Harry seems to be done explaining. “Open up,” he says, pushing his thumb into Louis’ cheek. Louis’ mouth drops open obediently. 

Harry’s hand leaves his face, but only because he’s unballing the gold fabric in his hands. There’s something inside of it, connected to the fabric, long and solid. 

“It’ll make your jaw ache a bit, but it’ll come to feel normal in no time,” he says, and Louis chokes for a second as suddenly his mouth is _full_ of something long and thick that reaches about to his throat. 

The gold material covers his mouth and his nose and for a second Louis thinks he’s not going to be able to breathe, but when Harry pulls the straps behind his ears he realises it’s a cloth mask.

A cloth mask that’s also gagging him. 

He groans a little, tries to bite down or push it out with his tongue but his mouth is barely working as it is.

“That’s a beautiful sound,” Harry says, reaching up to stroke his face again. “I wouldn’t mind if you kept making it. And if you hit stage two as quickly as I did when I tried it, you’re going to be a whole lot louder pretty soon. 

Louis doesn’t know what he means. He feels stupid. His jaw is stretched wide and already is starting to feel a bit uncomfortable, but at the same time is distracted by the feeling of his hands trapped behind him, strapped down so tightly he can’t even unwind his fingers. 

It takes him a moment to even realise that Harry’s no longer standing in front of him, but when he’s somewhat aware of his surroundings again, Harry’s walking back toward him with a sewing box in hand. 

“Some things just need to be done by hand,” he says, getting onto his knees in front of Louis. Louis tries to look down at him but the gag in his mouth makes it hard, so he only gets a half a glance as Harry pulls from his box what look like two wide golden belts. 

He whimpers as he feels Harry trace around his upper thigh, circling it with a belt and tightening it. 

The belt is right up against his pelvis, would be touching his dick if not for the material in between, and while alcohol usually makes it much more difficult for Louis to get hard, it’s suddenly in this moment all but impossible _not_ to.

He feels incredibly embarrassed but as Harry circles the very top of his other thigh with the second belt, Louis lets out another involuntary groan as Harry brushes against his dick. There’s no doubt now that he’s turned on, and nothing he could possibly do to cover up. 

It also doesn’t help that Harry seems to be brushing against his cock a lot more than necessary. 

He’s pulling other straps out of his box that Louis can only catch glimpses of out of the corner of his eye, but he feels when they snap into place on the bottom of his shirt, and then connect to the belts around his thighs, two in the front and two in the back, and pulled tight, so the little give the shirt had from wiggling his hands is completely gone. 

Harry steps back and returns to his desk, and he says something, Louis is pretty sure, but he’s _so_ achingly hard that he can’t concentrate on anything. He tries to at least grind his thighs together but the belts make it difficult, pulling against his shirt that’s already stretched to its limits. 

He doesn’t even realise the sounds coming from his mouth until Harry’s right in front of him and laughing. “I told you it happened fast,” he says, or at least Louis thinks he says. He makes eye contact with Harry sucks the gag in his mouth to keep from groaning and because he can’t complain, can’t yell at Harry to _do something please—_

Harry reaches down and palms at Louis’ crotch, and the sounds that come out of Louis’ throat as he sucks down the cock in his mouth are so loud and pitiful, begging, _pleading._

“It’s lucky I’m the only one on this floor,” Harry says. “You’re deliciously loud.”

Then he takes his hand away and Louis tries to protest, taking a step forward, to beg for the contact back. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Harry says. He puts his large, strong hands on Louis’ waist (and _not_ his dick which is a _crime)_ and leads him backward until the back of his legs hits the couch and Harry pushes him down. “We can’t have you wandering around,” he says. “Not with the state this room is in.”

He reaches over into the box which he must not have put away and pulls out another two golden belts, and Louis clenches his thighs in desperation as he weakly struggles against Harry’s easy grip on his ankles. The belts go around his ankles easily, and then Harry’s large hands are on him again as he pushes Louis over onto his side, and then onto his stomach on the couch. Louis is too distracted by the newfound pressure against his dick, squirming against the cushions of the couch, to pay much attention to the way Harry clips his ankles to his thighs. 

“You know,” Harry says, sitting back and eyeing his struggle as Louis moans, sucking the gag in his mouth as he makes desperate rutting movements against the couch. “This would be easier for you without your pants, and they don’t really go with the colour scheme of the outfit anyway.”

Louis’ not paying too much attention to what he’s saying right up until he feels Harry’s hands on his ass and the cold feeling of metal against his crack as Harry cuts straight up the middle of his briefs, then tears the material apart. The open air is a momentary shock to him, along with the feeling of his pants being forcibly pulled off between his thighs. He whimpers, exposed, but when Harry’s hands start kneading at his ass a moment later he can’t help but resume his awkward, frantic rutting. 

He’s just about to come, feeling so desperate and on edge, only moments later, letting out a high whine, when Harry’s hand reaches between his legs and grasps tightly around the base of his dick.

“Oh hold on,” he says. “I can’t have you mess up the outfit, that would definitely impact my final grade.”

Louis struggles, a desperate squealing coming from his lips as his arms strain against the veritable straight jacket they’re caught in, his chest heaving. With Harry’s free hand he grasps around Louis’ torso and hauls him up and backward so that he’s sitting on his thighs, his back flush against Harry’s chest. 

One last gold strap, matching the belts but much smaller, appears in Louis’ line of vision as Harry’s arm snake around his middle from behind and wrap the strap unbearably tight around Louis’ dick, clicking it into place with a noise that suddenly clears just a little fog from Louis’ brain, makes him realise that this… this was all planned.

But the next thing he knows is Harry’s voice again, “but I did promise you compensation,” he says. “And the final exhibition isn’t until seven tomorrow night, so I wouldn’t want you to be without entertainment until then.” He pushes Louis over again, Louis’ cheek hitting the couch cushion and the gag in his mouth hitting the back of his throat and making him groan.

Then the next thing he knows is a finger probing at his hole, and something cold and slick pushing against his entrance. Louis moans as he feels something push in, invade his entrance and settle against him, filling him so full, uncomfortable but pushing up against a bit of him that’s making his aching cock jump a little. 

He moans again and rolls his hips against the couch, too desperate to think clearly.

He sucks on the gag in his mouth and whimpers around it, his arms strapped to his sides and fingers trapped, legs belted together so he could barely move even if he wanted to, drugs coursing through his system and his aching cock leaking despite the strap around it. 

Then he feels Harry shift and the plug in his ass starts to vibrate and Louis keens, his vision going white. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked that you might be interested in [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174708). Or a series that starts with this one.


End file.
